Ancient History

For those interested in History and remains of the past, Morocco is undoubtedly one of the greatest places on Earth to explore. Aside from the Medinas that showcase a life trapped in a time warp, and the crumbling ruins of the Valley of a Thousand Kasbahs, there is evidence of life long since passed in every small village or town you go to. Ramparts that would be walled and protected elsewhere are used as a place to secure animals or park a car. People here have a great deal of respect for the past, but this respect is doused with practicality. Why cordon off a strip of 10^th Century wall when it could be used to build a new home against, after all, it’s only a wall.

While in Meknes and Fes you see stretches of these imposing walls. Up to 15 metres in height the one in Meknes winds around the city for 25 kilometres. Understandably crumbling in places, this wall was commissioned by the 17^th Century ruler Moulay Ismail after he took over control of the weakened country from his brother who was killed when he fell off a horse in 1672. Sadly Moulay Ismail was so busy building walls and seeing off the competition for right of rule from his 83 brothers and half-brothers, that he was unable to finish building what would have been one of the greatest palaces in the country. Murdering those who failed to submit to his rule, family or otherwise, Moulay Ismail who was also known as Warrior King was one of the greatest leaders of the era. Famous for doing gruesome things such as adorning his new wall with the heads of slain enemies he also managed to build up 160,000 strong elite army called the ‘Black Guard’. This fearsome army successfully subdued the rest of the Moroccan feuding tribes, get rid of most of the Spanish and Brits from the country, and prevent further invasion. This army grew from 16,000 slaves that Moulay Ismail brought from sub Saharan Africa. By providing them with women he bought not only their allegiance but also their children who grew to become soldiers.

As well as all the wall building, murder, fighting and organising, Moulay Ismail fathered literally hundreds of children (876 if you believe Wiki). This caused chaos when he died as it took years to resolve the small issue of who was to be his successor.

Visiting Moulay Ismail’s Mausoleum, it takes a moment for it to register that not only is there no entrance booth; there are also no pestering guides, no information pamphlet or even a single sign. Set into one of his majestic and ornate walls the tomb is reached by walking through five connected courtyards. Contrary to guide book predictions during our visit we didn’t have to squeeze past busloads of tourists and had the place more or less to ourselves. Blue sky contrasts with the tall yellow walls and colourful mosaics. Fountains add to the sense of peace. The aim of the courtyards and fountains being to humble and calm all visitors before they reach the tomb of Moulay Ismail. The simplicity of the first four courtyards contrast greatly with the fifth area and the tomb itself. Foreigners are not allowed to approach the tomb and have to stop in the fifth area. This is possibly the most spectacular space anyway, with light pouring through high windows onto some of the finest craftsmanship that Morocco has to offer. Years’ worth of carving, engraving and mosaic laying has survived through the ages.

As beautiful as the interior is, it is the external courtyards which leave a lasting impression. The fountains, calls of the birds high on the walls and gentle sweeping of the old man in charge of keeping the place tidy, all combine to make it a very serene escape from the harsh light and honking cars outside. 

 

 

Simple Things...

I had been concerned about how I would feel coming back to Ifrane. The last five months have been some of the most stressful I’ve ever had. When people back home asked how I had lost 10 kilos in the last year my response is simply 'stress at altitude'. After leaving friends and family and having such a good time at home over Christmas I was anticipating the heavy weight of dread to arrive on my shoulders as soon as I walked through the door to our apartment. Instead it just felt nice to be back in our cosy home surrounded by all our cushions, rugs, art and high wooden ceiling. We had given ourselves three days before school started to settle back in. then when we started we only had two days of teaching before the weekend. This is definitely a recommended way to ease back into the swing of things.

As well as the cosy apartment there have been a few other things that have made it easier coming back. First is the sun. The sky is as crystal clear as ever and is that deep blue of summer holidays. It is glorious outdoor living weather. It makes you want to run, cycle and hike whenever you have time. I have nearly done more exercise this week then the last 5 months combined. At night it gets down to freezing and in the day it is said to feel around 10-15 degrees. Our thermometer on our window claims got up to 57.5 degrees C yesterday. We live in a sun trap. Next week it is forecast to be maximum of 2 degrees, minimum of -8 degrees. Those snow boots and thermals aren't going to be waisted then.

When we arrived back we were car-less and felt slightly lost. We had only purchased it two weeks before we left and already feel dependant and lost without it. It's amazing how well we coped before, then two weeks with a car and calling a taxi or catching the shuttle bus seems like too much of a faff. We had left the car at a mechanics to get checked out over the holiday. It was returned to us having had a Moroccan style service including the replacement of four engine belts, the spare tyre and drivers wing mirror, all for about 150 GBP. The spare tyre cost 15 Dirhams. One Pound is 13 Dirhams. We are baffled by this as tyres aren't that cheap here. It is a bit battered and old, but it's a snow tyre and as long as it gets us to a garage in an emergency you can't go wrong for less than one pound fifty. Now we have a car again and we have found that if you hit a bump right we can get the stereo working and life feels so much better with music in the car. Blue sky, sun, music and wheels.... it's that joy only a seventeen year old understands. The difference is that unlike when I was seventeen I’ll actually be able to drive a bit. Ifrane is the perfect place to get back behind to wheel. The speed limit is about thirty kilometres an hour in most places with speed bumps and roundabouts... it's a drivers training area.

As well as fully appreciating the freedom of a car, we have found that absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder. Being away has made me appreciate our surroundings far more. There seems to be beauty at every turn. The trees, lakes and buildings are spectacular at the moment. All set of by the colour of the sky and that feel good feeling of the sun on a frosty morning. We have been out to our favourite restaurant three or four times this week. Sun, blue sky, warm fragrant bread and pastries, fresh orange juice, good coffee and Bob Marley while overlooking the impressive football skills of the local kids playing in the village square. What a way to relax and unwind. This is a good start to my new chilled 'it will get done when it's done, don't stress' attitude. 

The final little revelation and potentially imminent life changing discovery was made on Friday night. Out with friends for a little reminiscing of the good holiday life, we found our regular drinking bar in the Hotel Grande had been made uninviting a looked closed. We had liked this area of the hotel as although it was usually empty it was small and cosy so you didn't feel weird. It also had nice non florescent lighting and wasn't full of smoke. Because it was small we could make our own atmosphere and pretend we were out in a normal bar. To our disappointment it was closed and we had to revert to the other drinking area of the bar. Called Charlie's Pub and probably the most pub like room we have seen in Morocco, it was silent and quite dark, with two tables taken by people with no drinks who decided their best entertainment was to stare at the foreigners. Gradually the place filled up and became less silent. Sadly it also became s lot more smoky, but you want people and atmosphere here then you have to have smoke. Everybody smokes and being behind the times as they are they generally choose to do it indoors. So, surrounded by smoke we were also surrounded by other people drinking, chatting and having a good time. I was quite perplexed when I went to the toilet and had to navigate my was around two semi naked women applying make up in there. When I returned a small group of local musicians had set up and started to play. After a short time the aforementioned ladies came out to dance, thankfully wearing a lot more clothing (otherwise I’m not sure I could have coped with the embarrassment. Thailand is one thing, but go-go bars in a place where it's rude to show an ankle is a bit wrong). These girls wearing high necked, long sleeved floor length flowing white dresses had jangly belts around their waist. The preceded to belly dance around the tables. My only experience of belly dancing has been of slightly older and droopy rotund women wearing very little and wobbling too close to your wine glass. This 'covered' version was much more flattering. While we were working out a polite moment to leave they came over and danced either side of our friend. In most other place money would be exchanged for this, but here where offence and insult occurs far easier we didn't really know what to do. It was only after leaving and checking with the bar tender that we were told that is what the belts are for. While this kind of drinking, music and dancing is not really what we are used to and long for, it is a huge improvement on what we thought we had access to.

On a further note this week...

….ended up being pulled up to join the belly dancing and was given jangly belt as well,

….newly fixed car is squealing horrifically,

…..had about 30 cm of snow and have lived in snow boots for a week. Thermometer at this moment says 51 degrees yet there is still snow on the roof across from us. Sitting in the apartment in a towel with windows open and feeling hot while there are still piles of snow outside is a little weird.

Christmas Celebration Marathon

Much concern was expressed by family and friends who read this blog on a regular basis upon our return home for Christmas. On reflection, it does seem that there have been an increasing number of negative posts over the last few months. What with the stress of planning, battles for resources and the claustrophobic nature of living in a small village with little to do in the way of socialising, it had been difficult to see the positive side of life. We spent the last month focused upon going home for two and a half weeks at Christmas. All my thoughts were on quality time with friends and family, pints, pubs, cheap shopping, chips and gravy, Asian food and my first Christmas dinner with my mum in seven years. It is only when you live abroad that you really appreciate the cold and rainy England.

Thankfully our return for our first Christmas home in four years was everything we hoped and much much more. Some of the many highlights included a Christmas Day drivathon; five visits in twelve hours, seventeen different pubs, a Decathlon shopping frenzy (you can never have enough stylish sporty black jackets, Nick now has one for every season), my Mum's Christmas dinner with so many trimmings I left feeling despondent that I hadn't eaten enough and days of waking up at Nick's house which was as warm and welcoming as ever. Sadly the time at home passed quicker than we'd expected. And after a week I already had a growing sense of panic and guilt that we weren't going to see everyone. Two and a half weeks had seemed like such a long time. As we worked out our packed schedule and tried to divvy nights between mums fairly we quickly realised it wasn't actually much time at all. Both mums seemed quite shocked when we gave them their allocated four evenings each... where does the time go? Did we really need so much time in Ireland...? Had we made the right decision just going for the cheapest flights rather than the days that fit best. Surely there is only so much Guinness and Bulmers you can drink in the quaint Irish tardises that are otherwise known as pubs.

Thankfully the amount of time in Ireland was just right. We arrived after about five days of solid catching up and we were in much need of a quiet meal, a big comfy sofa and control of a TV remote. This was exactly what we were given. This gave us enough time to recover our enthusiasm for New Year's Eve the following day. New Year is a tricky one and probably leaves 90% of revellers feeling they didn't quite get what they were hoping for and it wasn't quite the night of the year they anticipated. Every year many of us say that we are going to have a quiet one so as not to start the New Year with stress and disappointment. You buy a new outfit, do the hair and make up and plan for the best night of the year. Generally what actually happens is you pay a fortune to get into a place so busy you can't even get to the bar to buy one of the overpriced drinks that strangely fail on this one mighty let it all go night to actually get you drunk. You can't find a seat and there are so many people it's difficult to find the ones you actually want to talk to and bring the New Year in with. Then, to top it all of if you're ripped off on the taxi ride home, that is if you're one of the fortunate few who actually manage to get a taxi to take you anywhere useful. Maybe this isn't everyone's view of New Year, maybe I’m just getting old.

New Year in Ireland was probably one of the best New Years I’ve ever had. Opting for a meal in for and then a short ride to the local where drinks were reasonable and it was free to get in was a spark of genius. The local in question is about thirty minutes outside of Galway in a small village. About the size of a farmhouse kitchen, this one room thatched roof pub had a steady stream of music we liked, a cosy corner we wedged ourselves into between the window and the bar (instant service on New Year's Eve, surely not) and welcoming locals that sounded like Brad Pitt in Snatch. Immersed in gossip and banter we got steadily smashed and enjoyed a lock in and dancing towards the later hours. Even the premenstrual tattooed-motor bike riding bar manager didn't manage to spoil the night. Just because someone broke a glass and fell out of the toilet doesn't mean you need to get all stressy on us.

We recovered from our New Year celebration in true Irish fashion; bacon, black pudding, white pudding, sausages and eggs before embarking on a day exploring the pubs in town. Galway has an incredible density of pubs. There are probably more pubs than any other type of shop or restaurant. Every pub has a unique atmosphere. You get sucked into one and find it hard to leave. You force yourself out and into the one next door and feel a sense of loss over the one you just left. Moments later having gone round a corner, down the stairs, into a bar, through another bar, up the stairs, past the musicians and across a balcony do you find that you are still in the same bar and not in fact in another realm and you have been engulfed of the jovial easy going warmth of yet another tardis of a pub. After five months of publess Ifrane the pints, the music and the good 'craic' that surrounds you everywhere you go in Galway was just what we needed.

Having had such a good time in Galway we returned to England for more celebrating. We drove from Manchester across the unusually pretty moors to Sheffield for Nick's brother's wedding. With concern about getting over Snake Pass in wind and wild weather we were staying in the hotel the day before the wedding. This allowed us to spend some more quality time with all parts of Nick's family. The wedding was beautiful; a meeting of Persian and Western culture and special for all lucky enough to be there. The highlight of the night was the groom's take on the 'second' dance where he danced in a rather inventive way wearing shades and an afro wig in front of his new wife and the bridesmaids to Daddy Cool. There is something strange that happens to men when they attend weddings. After trying to avoid it at all costs the rest of the time, at weddings they suddenly find their disco grove and hit the dance floor like it's going out of fashion. Andrew and Shima's wedding was no exception. In fact the dance floor was mainly filled with men most of the night. It was strange to be the only female at times. And no, they weren't gay.

Thankfully after my initial panic we did manage to spend enough time with people. Always planned to the last minute anyway, we became quite creative with our time keeping. We 'double dated' with friends and family. This led to one rather entertaining evening where my step dad Karl (a Manchester City supporter) enjoyed winding up Nick's dad Eric (a United supporter) over a Thai meal. Despite a few tense moments for me and Nick everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. We also ended up out with my family and friends for an Indian that while being very tasty was slightly bizarre due to the fact that 80's music was blasted out through the restaurant all evening. You would trail off mid sentence momentarily distracted by the chronic taste in music that someone had.

For all those who were concerned, our return to Ifrane has been surprisingly positive. I shan't write about it now. Living in a sleepy village doesn't provide much in the way of interesting reading so it can be kept for next week. 

Sadly we were unprecedently camera lazy this holiday so have no pictures. Christopher Collins needs to post them... and having trouble downloading wedding ones.